


Some Simple Act

by Carenejeans



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: April Showers Challenge, M/M, Remix, Valentine's Day, hl_remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-14
Updated: 2006-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:10:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carenejeans/pseuds/Carenejeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Origninally posted at <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/hl_remix/33554.html">hl_remix</a> February 14, 2006.<br/>Thanks to <a href="http://unovis.dreamwidth.org">Unovis</a> for last-minute mini-beta</p>
    </blockquote>





	Some Simple Act

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Simple Answer](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/2815) by Rachael Sabotini (Wickedwords). 



> Origninally posted at [hl_remix](http://community.livejournal.com/hl_remix/33554.html) February 14, 2006.  
> Thanks to [Unovis](http://unovis.dreamwidth.org) for last-minute mini-beta

Methos didn't paint. Or hammer, or wallpaper or plumb. He did not do home repair. But Duncan, standing on a ladder, a roll of tape in his hand, had just smiled, and reminded Methos of his house-painting folly just two days ago, which did rather undercut his argument. That was different, he'd protested. That wasn't about painting. That was a special occasion. He'd made a joke about it. Slipped, and said his name. Duncan.

Duncan had looked him up and down. "I like it when you use my given name."

Methos held Duncan's playful, hopeful gaze. He held his breath. Duncan -- Duncan was flirting with him. Seduction by paint brush and masking tape, but still seduction. It was all over his face. In his eyes. In Duncan's dark eyes.

Duncan.

Methos picked up a brush.

He painted.

\-------------------

Duncan watched Methos as he worked, thinking about the two of them on Anne's porch -- it seemed like a lot longer than two days ago. Being with Methos then had been both easy and unsettling; he'd worked contentedly alongside a friend, and he'd had the most exquisite feeling of anticipation, a certainty that some simple act -- a touch, a glance, a word -- would change everything. But when things had escalated with Kristen, both the easiness and the anticipation had gone by the wayside, and after, Methos had moved into a hotel.

He wanted it back. He wanted Methos back.

It was too quiet. Duncan climbed down off the ladder and leaned against the wall until Methos looked up.

"Do you blame me for Kristen?" Duncan said softly.

"Why should _I_ blame _you_ , MacLeod?" Methos said reasonably.

"You left--" Duncan stopped. "You moved into a hotel."

Methos raised an eyebrow, and Duncan felt his face heating. Methos turned back to his painting. "Sometimes a little distance is good," he said.

Sweat stuck Methos's shirt to his back.. Duncan passed a roll of tape between one hand and the other, watching the muscles of Methos's shoulders stretch and relax as he made long, rhythmic stokes. Methos stopped moving for a heartbeat, and Duncan climbed back on the ladder.

"For a little while," Methos added, and Duncan looked down. Methos was drawing the brush slowly down the wall, pretending not to smile.

\-------------------

It was hot. Duncan pulled off his T-shirt, and Methos watched him, pretending he wasn't watching at all. He watched the muscles in Duncan's back flex as he climbed the ladder and put masking tape around the molding on the ceiling. He watched the graceful, economical movements of Duncan's hands, his fingers. It wasn't fair for anyone to look that good in sweats. It wasn't fair for someone looking that good to be on top of a ladder. The floor was covered in clouds of canvas. Duncan would look good against it, his dark skin against the light cloth. Get him down on the floor, pull off those dark blue sweats...

"Hand me some more tape." Duncan tossed down the empty spool of masking tape and held his hand out, waiting.

The fantasy faded. Methos gritted his teeth. "I'm not hired help, you know." He stomped over to the pile of new spools and snagged the one on top, then tossed it towards Duncan. "Be nice, or I'll leave you to do it yourself."

The ladder rattled as Duncan over-extended himself catching the roll. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be nice." He turned to the ceiling, then glanced back down at Methos. "Why don't you start taping the edges down there, then? Please?" He tossed back his hair and batted his eyes. Winsomely.

Methos's breath caught. He coughed, turned it into a rather wheezing chuckle, and gritted his teeth again as Duncan looked inordinately pleased.

Taping, right. Methos picked up a roll and jerked the end free. "Tell me you brought some beer, at least," he said.

"No, just water, in that chest over there."

"What? Seducing me into your home improvement schemes with just water? I'd hate to see how you woo women."

"They don't complain," Duncan said. Smugly. Damn his smug brown eyes.

"I'll go get beer," Methos snapped. "Give me your keys." Duncan tossed him the keys. Methos caught them and turned away.

Duncan was getting to him. He'd spent too many nights lately trying not to think about sweaty, muscular flesh. He'd wanted to fuck him through the floor after Kristen's quickening, but spent the night alone in a hotel room because he didn't want to do anything he might later regret. That either of them would later regret. He glanced up at Duncan, who'd gone back to his taping, grinning to himself. Maybe he'd been too cautious. But Duncan kept giving him mixed signals. Flirting one day, pulling back the next; it was driving him right round the bend.

Oh, Duncan, he sighed. Oh Duncan, he mocked himself. Well, what did he expect? Hearts and flowers?

  
\-------------------

Methos stood at the counter staring at hearts and flowers. Good God, he thought. Was it Ground Hog Day already? He plunked a six-pack of indifferent beer on the counter, making the bottles rattle, and set his own bottles of the better stuff down more carefully. He eyed the garish red and pink display. He picked up a card and snickered. He put it back. He picked it up again.

"You gonna buy that or what?"

Methos threw the card down after the beer. At the last moment, he added an odd packet of something pink and white and gummy-looking.

\-------------------

It wasn't fair, Duncan thought, as he watched Methos bend to add the beer to the ice chest, for anyone to look that good in jeans. Pretending to focus on the trim he was painting, Duncan watched Methos open the bottle, throw back his head, and drink. He took long swallows, and a few drops of liquid escaped his lips, glistening brightly against his skin.

\-------------------

Methos dropped down next to where Duncan sat cross-legged on the floor. "Here," he said. "Got you a present."

Duncan looked suspiciously at the crumpled brown paper bag. "What's the occasion?"

Methos rolled his eyes and tossed him a white envelope. "Here's a clue."

Duncan frowned and pulled a eye-popping pink and white card from the envelope. He snorted. "Happy Valentine's day, butthead?"

"It's the thought that counts."

"Thanks," Duncan said dryly. He flipped the card back to Methos.

Methos fingered the card. "Civility is going down the tubes these days," he sighed.

"Well, you're not helping," Duncan pointed out.

Methos smiled. "Open your present."

Duncan shot him a look, and opened the bag. He pulled out a cellophane-wrapped, lumpy looking, No. 5 red-dyed, jellied heart.

"What is this?"

"It's a gummy heart, MacLeod. Do try to keep up." As Duncan looked at it dubiously, he added, "It's special. Any other day I'd have had to settle for a foot."

"A... foot?"

"Gummy foot, MacLeod."

"I'm not going to eat this... this gummy thing," Duncan said.

"Oh, nobody does," Methos said. "They just buy them for other people. As gag gifts."

"Gag is right. You went out and bought me a buttheaded Valentine and a gummy heart?"

"Correction: I went out and bought beer. These are simply impulse purchases."

"You should try to control your impulses, old man."

"Now, why should I do that?" Methos said innocently. And softly enough to make Duncan look up quickly, then smile.

\-------------------

Methos stripped off his shirt. He was sweaty, grimy, dust covered, and his thoughts turned longingly to a shower. He tossed the shirt in the corner and glanced back at Duncan.

Duncan looked down at Methos's chest, then to his face. Methos watched his eyes change.

"What?"

"Nothing." Duncan walked over to him as if mesmerized. Methos held his breath. Duncan fingered the leather thong with the Chinese coin attached to it that lay against Methos's neck. "Any special reason for this?"

"Not really." Methos leaned slightly into his touch. "I just like the weight of it. It feels good around my neck."

Duncan's thumb brushed over the dull metal surface, looking at the inscription. "Yes." Duncan's gaze was on Methos's lips. "It's warm."

"What do you want, Duncan?" Methos said softly.

"I...." Duncan hesitated, "I want to know where I fit." He let the coin fall against Methos's bare skin. "Where is my place with you, Methos? His fingers drifted casually down Methos's chest, lingered over his heart.

"Is that where you want to be?"

Duncan looked into his eyes, and without a word, pulled him forward and kissed him, a kiss soft and rough and warm. Methos slid his arms around Duncan's waist and returned the kiss, devouring it like it was a ration of daily bread. He took a ragged breath and rested his forehead against Duncan's, touching a hand to his lips. "Tell me you aren't simply toying with my affections."

"No." Duncan's smile flashed. "No," he said again, seriously. He sank to his knees and pressed his lips against Methos's hardening cock through his jeans. "No."

Methos breathed air that suddenly seemed brighter. "Oh, yes."

\-------------------

Duncan's heart pounded. His name on Methos's lips; his lips against Methos's cock, hard for him. Duncan brushed his tongue over it, making Methos gasp, not his name, nor any word, inarticulate but plain. Duncan loved this, loved making love -- loved fucking and sucking and sweating and touching, loved pushing his own body to the limit while pleasuring another. It was a type of meditation, almost, when everything felt connected and passion simply flowed.

\-------------------

Methos rested his hand on the back of Duncan's head, his fingers still, but his breath still coming in shudders; he was spent but still vibrating with lust. Duncan slid Methos's jeans down, pulled them away from his ankles and knelt there before him, gently stroking, touching his mouth to Methos's bare skin.

"Up, Duncan," Methos said finally, softly. Duncan rose, and took Methos into his arms. Methos pushed Duncan's sweats down over his hips, freeing his cock. "God." He slid his hand up Duncan's arm and down his chest to his nipples, "Just look at you." He wrapped his hand around Duncan's cock, rubbed his palm over the tip. "I could make a feast out of you."

He let his finger glide down to the base of Duncan's cock, and gently palmed his balls. It was marvelous, the weight of it in his hands. God, he wanted to fuck Duncan. So good, to pull him close and kiss those lips the way he'd wanted to for so long. So good to have Duncan beneath him -- beside him -- above him....

It wouldn't be a be-all and end-all, hearts and flowers, forever and ever fuck. It would just be the moment.

But what a moment.

\-------------------

Duncan leaned back and stretched, arching his back slightly, a lustful bronzed angel against the cloud of drop cloths. "Are you going to sit there all day and stare, or are you gonna --" He grinned -- that smug grin -- "have your wicked way with me?"

"My wicked way. Absolutely."

Duncan rolled over and leaned on his side, his arm bent, head propped against his hand, dark hair spilling around him.

Duncan's smile became even more smug, if that was possible, and Methos knew his face must tell all that was in his heart -- and in his cock -- and in his rapidly unraveling thoughts. He slid in next to Duncan and bent over to kiss his neck, his hair. "Duncan," he whispered, letting his hands roam and caress Duncan's back. I am besotted, he thought.

"Ah--gh" Duncan's voice changed from pleasure to pain.

"Something wrong?"

"No, I...." Duncan pressed back, shaking Methos off a bit, and turned onto his stomach. "Just need to shift a bit, my calf started to cramp. Probably the painting."

"Painting'll kill you," Methos intoned seriously. Duncan shot him an exasperated look over his shoulder. "Here, let me help." He rubbed the back of Duncan's leg while the cramp eased, letting his eyes roam over Duncan's body, wonderfully, gloriously naked -- and for this moment, at least, his.

His hand stilled suddenly, thinking about the beer, or the lack of it. "I hate to be unromantic, but did you bring along any helpful modern lubricating products?"

Duncan's shoulder's shook. "Ah, God, it must have slipped my mind." He raised himself up on his elbows and looked sideways at Methos. "Guess you'll have to go out to the store again."

"Mac!"

Duncan shifted under his hands and he turned over, putting his hands behind his head and grinning up at Methos's indignant face, seemingly unaware that his cock stood up between them.

"In the toolbox," he said.

"Idiot," Methos said. He turned his back on Duncan's grin, and went looking for the toolbox. It was in the next room. Of course. He rummaged through the box, throwing tools and packets of screws and boxes of nails onto the floor. He picked up a package of sandpaper and turned it over in his hand, but tossed it aside regretfully. The lube was tucked into a plastic drawer with tubes of putty and -- Methos frowned -- edible machine grease. Maybe he should take that, too. Stuff it into Duncan's arse along with the gummy heart.

Lube in hand, he stomped -- as best as he could with bare feet -- back into the other room, where the sight of Duncan spread out on the drop cloths drove thoughts of petty revenge from his mind.

"Oof!" Duncan protested, smiling, as Methos fell upon him. They lay pressed length to length, their cocks ready, hard, and bumping together.

"Methos," Duncan said.

Methos looked at Duncan, and in that instant, laughter turned to heat.

"Yes," he said.

Duncan watched him with unfathomable dark eyes as he slicked his cock, and Methos, performing the simple ritual, wondered how it could seem like the first time, how it was always new, even though both the impulse and the act were as old as humanity. He knelt over Duncan, entered Duncan, fucked him, and Duncan fucked him back, moving to meet each thrust with one of his own, each thrust hitting just the right places. Methos loved looking at Duncan as they fucked, his hand wrapped around Duncan's cock, and Duncan looked back, until with a great shudder he closed his eyes and came, with Methos's name on his lips.

"Duncan," he said in answer, naming his own desire, and the look on Duncan's face made him feel light, flowing into ecstasy, pushing harder and faster into Duncan's flesh with his own flesh, driving in deep, hard and quick and hot. His hips jerked uncontrollably as he came, his head thrown back, neck stiff, jaws clenched.

The frisson eased, and Methos became aware of Duncan's hands sliding up and down his forearms. He looked down and caught Duncan gazing up at him, his dark eyes luminous, face flushed, hair damp with sweat. Methos leaned back down to kiss him.

Duncan pulled him into his arms. "Coming home with me tonight?"

"What an absolutely stupid question," Methos said. "What do you think?"

"And come back to help me paint tomorrow?"

"Don't push your luck," Methos said. After a moment he sighed, "And don't bat your eyes."

"It worked before." Duncan batted his eyes.

"Oh all right," Methos said, his thoughts turning to what might be done with a bit of sandpaper. _If_ you bring the beer."

"Beer, check," Duncan made a note in the air between them.

Methos smiled, and put his hand on Duncan's chest, over his heart.

\-------------------

Friends, or lovers, it didn't matter, Duncan thought. This was good. Methos was here. It was enough.

  
\--end--


End file.
